Natalia Alianova Romanova has been many things over her lifetime— assassin, spy, agent, avenger. Weapon. No matter how that’s repackaged.
She has met men worse off than her. But only two. Both James. Neither of them went by it— neither of them remembered it— but she is a Widow, and she knows how to get into what people don’t want.
Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th. Current alias: the Winter Soldier.
Captain James Logan Howlett of Department K. Current alias: the Wolverine.
She knows them well. They do not know her. They do not remember her. She sees them, years later, and she introduces herself as Natasha. The Black Widow. James— the man that was once her James— stares at her with hollow, unseeing eyes and tells her that SHIELD says his name is Bucky. As if he’s uncertain of even that fact. Her heart pangs for him, but she knows he is too unstable to know what has been erased, so she nods and tells him that she will listen if he would like to talk.
The other one is short. She remembers being shorter than him. He looks at her with dark eyes and sits down next to her the first time he gets the chance. She looks at him and smiles and he doesn’t smile back.
“I feel like I know ya, from somewhere.” he huffs out from around a cigar. “A while ago. I don’t got the best memory, but you…” he regards her carefully. She remembers when he’d smile at her, call her Sparrow because she was thin and small and liked the birds. “I know you.”
He’s strong enough to know. To speak. She wants him to remember, really. “You do.” she nods, fingers tapping absently on the table. Clint’s talking with Coulson, and she watches them with a faint smile on her face as she talks. “You knew me when I was younger.”
“Natalia.”
“Natasha.”
“…Natasha.” he nods, frowning hard. Presses at his temples. “God, I—“
“You knew me as Natalia.” she adds quickly, correcting herself. “Natalia Romanov. It’s— it’s Natasha now. Natasha Romanoff.”
“Natasha Romanoff,” he echoes. Finally smiles at her, a sharp one that shows fangs but somehow isn’t intimidating. “I like it. Suits you.”
After a beat of silence, he holds out his hand. There are metal cylinders in his knuckles. “Logan.” She takes his hand and nods, wondering how he has calluses with a healing factor like Banner says.
“I know.”
“You do, huh?” he huffs a laugh, pulling a flask out of his old jacket— still reading J. Howlett— and drinking deep. “Betcha do. Y’know, you remind me of—“ he thinks for a moment, brow furrowing as he searches through his mind for answers. “Huh. Dunno. Lost that one.”
“Does that happen a lot?” she asks, privately thinking about how anxious she’d constantly be if she just forgot things. Ignores how she’s anxious constantly anyways.
“Sometimes,” he shrugs. “You learn to deal. Ain’t findin’ ‘em back anyways.” he leans back in his chair, eyes traveling over the people in the room with a sharp intensity that she’s only used to seeing in the mirror. “Who’s the human?”
She turns to look at Clint. He’s still faintly banged-up from their last mission, but grinning with Coulson and talking in a mix of English and ASL that she knows nobody else can keep up with. “That’s Clint. Agent Barton— Hawkeye.”
“The arrow guy.”
She resists the urge to snort. “Yeah. The arrow guy. He’s my best friend— best agent SHIELD has.”
Logan regards her quietly for a long, long few seconds. His eyes flicker, over her face and body and hands. She doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t roam like most men do, doesn’t look at her like she’s a valuable asset in murder or sex. Just… looks at her. Like she’s something worth seeing.
“You had a green velvet coat.” is all he offers.